


How to Snag a Makara

by CurlicueCal, LaughingStones



Series: Unexpected Diamonds [3]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Sburb/Sgrub Sessions, M/M, Pale Romance | Moirallegiance, hemocaste flip, trolls & humans & carapaces all live together
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-11
Updated: 2020-04-11
Packaged: 2021-03-02 03:54:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,075
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23598706
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CurlicueCal/pseuds/CurlicueCal, https://archiveofourown.org/users/LaughingStones/pseuds/LaughingStones
Summary: Bro and Kurloz are enjoying some domestic peace at Kurloz’s place when Gamzee comes home bleeding, draped over a stranger’s shoulder.  Who is this helpful troll, and are those hearts in the air or diamonds?
Relationships: Bro Strider/Kurloz Makara, Gamzee Makara/Karkat Vantas
Series: Unexpected Diamonds [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/990951
Comments: 32
Kudos: 270





	How to Snag a Makara

You’re cross-legged on Kurloz’s battered couch with this month’s inventory of half-finished smuppets spread around you when you hear the front door bang open with more force than usual.

Kurloz lifts his voice toward the out-of-sight dining room without glancing up from his paints. “Don’t bring the hiveblock down, grubling.”

You hear a noise of assent from Gamzee, some hushed scuffling, and a--wait, is that _two_ voices? Two voices talking in unusual undertones, with a few urgent, argumentative syllables breaking through.

Your sewing gets tucked aside before you flash-step lightly round the doorframe into the dining room, Kurloz ghosting in just ahead while you hang back to scope the situation.

Gamzee’s leaning heavily against a much shorter, broader troll, arm draped over his shoulders, looking dizzy. Purple is smeared across his lips and trickling from one eyebrow, and Kurloz swears in a rolling snarl and lunges to scoop him off his feet (and away from the stranger). Gamzee resists, though, clinging to the new guy.

The new guy, for his part, shifts uneasily back on his feet, seeming torn between staying close to the clinging Gamzee and making an escape back out the front door. His hoodie is pulled up high over his horns and hair, shoulders and head hunched, and he keeps half making like to bolt. Kurloz sounds ready to remove limbs first and ask questions maybe never, so this isn’t _that_ suspicious. You cheerfully flash over to block the door anyway. _You_ want to ask questions.

“Don’t go,” Gamzee mumbles to the stranger, and then aims a dazed smile up at Kurloz. “He motherfucking saved me, bro, all made ‘em lay off their yelling and step off.”

“And who is it was up and getting on their yell at you,” Kurloz growls, though his hostility fades back a few notches, down from ‘lethal’ to ‘irritably concerned.’ “and how did you come to be at the mercy of strangers? Wiggler, I’ve been at _telling_ you to take care! Messiahs take me, motherfucking wigglers with no more sense than a stale grubloaf.”

“Somebody knocked into him and he didn’t apologize,” the stranger says gruffly. “It wasn’t his fucking fault, it was the load of bigoted chute-sniffers at the diner.”

He’s still not making eye contact, you notice. He’s also stopped trying to get away from Gamzee, letting him all but hang off his arm even as Kurloz sets him into a kitchen chair and kneels down to take a look at his banged-up face. This puts the stranger in close proximity to Kurloz, but he holds his ground pretty well and Kurloz doesn’t bother with more than a warning flash of fang, focused as he is on checking Gamzee over.

“Yeah,” Gamzee says, “and you just--shit, bro, he just busted right into the middle of them all and cussed them out, made ‘em fuck off! Didn’t even lay a fuckin’ frond on any of them, but they all scared off anyway.”

“Hm,” is all Kurloz says. He’s retrieved some gauze from his sylladex and is carefully blotting blood away from his face. “Sit still now, wriggler.” His touch is gentle over Gamzee’s lips--not split, must have gotten cut up inside his mouth by his fangs--and more careful still over the gash in his eyebrow.

Gamzee hisses and the strange troll pats at his arm.

Oh ho. Your assessment of this jumpy good Samaritan sharpens and you look him over more carefully. Good quality clothes--not obviously nice, jeans and sweatshirt, but you can see the signs of high end stitchwork and fabric cuts. Expensive sneakers, relatively new. He’s still being cagey about giving a clear view of his face and eyes, but this is definitely not a coldblood. Which… could be a problem. Depending.

You settle back against the door, leaning comfortably, ready to wait this one out. It also means the next time the stranger glances towards the exit he startles dramatically and steps in towards Gamzee, apparently noticing you for the first time. Hilarious. You raise an eyebrow at him and otherwise maintain your blank face and casual slouch.

“What the fuck,” the troll mutters, and looks about ten times edgier. Doesn’t move away from Gamzee, though. You give him a li’l tiny tick mark of approval for that.

Kurloz finishes getting Gamzee’s face cleaned up, eyes him for a moment, the way he’s paying his Ancestor almost no mind, attention all fixed on the stranger, and stands back, turning a thoughtful gaze to said troll. “My gratitude on it for helping out my little brother, here. I’m up at being Kurloz Makara. Can I get to having your name, stranger?”

“No?” the troll says, apparently on instinct. “I mean--I--what the fuck even. You don’t need it. I was just gonna--” he makes another half-hearted move like he wants to leave. “It’s fine. He’s fine. You’re fine, right?”

“All thanks at you, bro,” Gamzee says, smiling at him--ah, with a distinctly dreamy look. “You wanna, uh, maybe stay a bit, lemme up and get my hospitality on to you?”

You are 90% sure your moirail’s kid has just acquired a serious crush. Whether it’s flushed or pale you can’t be sure, but it’s definitely something.

Kurloz doesn’t protest the invitation, either, just crosses his arms and watches the stranger with thoughtfully narrowed eyes.

The stranger keeps glancing between Kurloz and Gamzee, and then back to you-- either because you’re blocking the door or he’s trying to work out what the human’s doing here. You wiggle your fingers at him.

“I was, I…” he trails off, looking at Gamzee, and the fight goes out of him on a sigh. He mutters something to himself. Now that he’s not on pins and needles he just looks like he needs about a dozen naps. Huffing out another breath, he reaches up, pulls his hood back, and stands there in the dining block with his arms crossed like he’s resigned to whatever storm’s coming.

Gamzee just keeps beaming at him. Kurloz goes very still, and you’re not sure why, although those horns look weirdly familiar. His eyes are still wriggler grey like Gamzee’s, young to be anyone important—what is he, popular on Trolltube or something?

“Vantas,” Kurloz says. “We’re up and hosting celebrity and fame now.”

...Oh. The coin drops on that sense of familiarity and you reassess those nubby horns, the square face and thick brows, the short height. Not Signless, you’d have recognized the First Minister for sure, as outspoken of an activist as he is, but his freakin’ _heir._

“Karkat Vantas,” the kid says, like the introduction’s being dragged out of him. You can’t tell if the reluctance is discomfort with being recognized or with his surroundings.

You’re doing a lot of reassessing suddenly, trying to work out what this means for Gamzee, for whatever mess he got himself into, for his budding crush. A celebrity crush wouldn’t be that big a deal, but you’re getting some mixed signals from Vantas about there maybe being some requitement going on and that… is a mess and a half. You and Kurloz make eye contact briefly over the kids’ heads.

Gamzee’s mouth has come open now, and he’s staring at Vantas in stunned fascination. Vantas looks even more resigned than before. “Mother _fuck_ ,” Gamzee breathes, making Vantas blink, “that’s so fucking cool. You’ve up and got an Ancestor you’re all to knowing, too!” He grins up at Kurloz and back to Vantas like he just can’t keep his eyes off the guy. “You wanna come let me get my tour on for you, bro?”

Well, whatever’s going on, you probably don’t need to keep the exit on lockdown. Gamzee’s about welded himself to the kid’s hip and the kid doesn’t seem to know quite what to do with all that casual enthusiasm. You wander over to Kurloz to go lean against him instead, head nestled casual into his shoulder, and feel some of the tension slide out of him. You are _such_ a good palemate.

“Do I--what the fuck, is that all you have to say you pan-gargling--” Vantas glances Kurloz’s way and cuts off what sounded like it was gearing up to be a phenomenal insult. He fades a bit. “I thought you were gonna… freak out or something.”

Gamzee blinks at him. “Now, why’d I wanna get my fret on for that, my brother? I never met another troll as had their Ancestor for known living clade before! That’s a sweet motherfucking miracle!”

“He’s not my Ancestor, he’s an affliction sent to punish me for my crimes in a previous life,” Vantas mutters.

Gamzee blinks, a bit bemused, but shrugs agreeably. “Ain’t your fault who your Ancestor gets to being.” He slings an arm around Vantas’s shoulders as he stands up. Vantas turns a really endearing shade of red. “C’mon! In here we got the living block…”

He escorts Vantas out, chattering eagerly away, and you mentally calculate the odds that that tour turns into teenaged make outs. Gamzee is a sneaky little fucker when he wants to be.

You roll your head up against Kurloz’s shoulder. His face is stern, stressed and serious. You nudge him with the side of your head. “Guess who’s coming to dinner?”

He huffs at you, rolling his eyes, and, score, you are rubbing off on him because he either recognized that niche pop culture reference or knew better than to ask. His arm comes up around you regardless, fingers stroking your shoulder.

“Messiahs have mercy,” he sighs. “A motherfucking Vantas in my hive.”

“And your bro totally crushing on him,” you feel the need to point out. “And him crushing back, as far as I can tell. Not sure if it’s pale or flushed, though.”

Kurloz snorts before you’ve even finished speaking. “You getting on your jape and hilarity, bro? They’re pale as sand and starlight, pale as old bones under the pink moon. Pheromones rolling off them even when they weren’t getting their touch on.”

“Not all of us can literally smell romance,” you say. “Some of us have to use our well-developed deductive reasoning. And also spy and shit.” He cuffs your shoulder playfully. You give him a slice of smile, but let your voice get more serious. “They’re gonna have some shit to deal with if they wanna make it work for real. Pretty big kind of gap there.”

“Hm.” Kurloz smiles just a little, looking down at you. “Might be they’ll manage anyway.”

Your heart does one of those little flip things. You’re getting used to them these days. 

Turning into him, you tip your head back, raising a hand to your cheek in feigned shock. “What is this? Optimism? I think my moirail might be a closet romantic.”

The faintest tinge of lilac spreads across his cheeks and he narrows his eyes at you, growling soft and playful. “Careful what motherfucking aspersions you cast, or I might up and carry you off to get my rightful apologies.” His other arm comes around you tight, holding you close. “In fact, I might up and do that anyway.” One big hand rises to your cheek, caressing lightly. “You shouldn’t wonder that I have faith in my little brother, all sweetness and enthusiasm that he is. If any could snag a Vantas and keep him in pale thrall, it’d be him.”

“And what about snagging a Makara?” you tease. Your voice is just a touch breathless--he’s holding you so close, and fuck you’d feel ridiculous with anyone but him. “How hard is that?”

His smile turns rueful, with a sardonic edge. “As you should know, most precious diamond mine, it’s a trying task at best. You gotta up and get your rescue on of a Makara, but then he’s yours for sure.”

“Yeah?” you ask. “That so?” You slide a hand up to cup his cheek in turn, watch him nuzzle into it, let you take him right in hand. His eyes on you are so warm, fond and intent in that way that always makes you feel a little terrified. You love it. You love him.

“You all mine, Makara?”

“Whole and entire,” he breathes, “and pale as the heart of a nova.”

The kids walk in on you getting your mad snuggle on in the dining block and you’re pretty sure you traumatize Vantas. You decide this was your intention all along.


End file.
